A Drunken Ramble
by Tezna
Summary: Dean is drunk, and makes a pass at the barmaid. Set after he returns from Hell.


Slender, leaning over the bar with a rag, her eyes masked with shrouded pain. The bar was full of its drunken patrons, and Dean felt at home there. His slurred conversation with the girl next to him a had not gone well, and his eyes were slipping from her to the exhausted barmaid. Where was Sam?

All in black. Too somber for her- she should be in a happy color. A loud color. Red? She offered him another beer. He gratefully accepted, eying her playfully and drumming his fingers against the wood of the table.

He'd always had a thing for brunettes. Her long hair rose and fell with her stride as she placed the bottle in front of him. God, he was drunk. Checking his phone for any messages, he just _happened_ to catch her walking away, and just happened to notice…His phone vibrated and Dean was jostled from his stupor. Sam. Finally.

"Yeah, dude, where the hell are you? 'been here since… god, I don't even know."

Sam almost whispered to him, telling him about some girl, redhead maybe? Maybe he'd finally get lucky. Then all this would be worth it. Dean would just check into a motel. Yeah. Maybe with one of the ladies here- Sam didn't care. A woman's voice wafted over the airwaves, calling out for Sam… what the hell. Dena agreed and let Sam get to it.

Another chick wandered by, swerving into a seat, gleefully trying to coax a beer out of him. Dean almost bought her one, just to get rid of her. So much noise, all this useless chatter. He hated the drunken talkers. Always thought themselves so _suave_. The lady in black meandered back behind the bar and he pointedly order another drink for _himself_, sending a definite glare in the mouthy one's direction. He might have missed, he was too drunk to know.

He studied the bottom of the bottle, wondering where the closest motel was. He was out of it, and the lines in the wood of the table were moving. Even the dim ceiling lights seemed too bright, like their individual ecstasy was too much for the room to take. He lowered himself from the bar stool and made his way to the exit.

The lady in black caught him just before he left, taking his arm and steadying his pace, asking if he had anywhere to stay and if he could get there alright. He looked into her face and was snatched by her eyes. He could have filled an ocean with their depth and wanted to drink up her sorrow like beer. She was washed away in her misery, and he needed to pull her back.

So he asked her if she would please take him to the nearest motel and if she would _please_ stay with him and not leave 'til morning. His sentences were strung along and spontaneously fractured, so that she smiled and wafted over him. They were walking along now, he was clutching at her for support, trying to explain to her about her eyes, how they spoke to him and how he wanted to relieve her burden. She kept one foot in front of the other and looked ahead to the brilliantly pink sign that nearly blinded him. He shielded his eyes, leaning into her. Hs smiled and mumbled how strange he was. Why didn't he have anyone with him?

In the dank room, Dean laid on the couch while she tried to whisper into her phone. She was talking to a man.

"I don't now how many, at least seven. I wouldn't feel comfortable just leaving him here…I know." She smiled nervously at him, glancing away to the window. It was a dark, unfeeling night, the sort of dark that would swallow you up if you didn't watch out for it. Patches of darkness fell through the tainted window, and he tried to stand and confront the darkness that held him captive. Was it outside or was it within? He was no longer sure.

Then she stood in front of him, looking at him softly, studying his face. He rose to talk to her, tell her that the numbness was gone. He'd need another drink. She was too quick for him, though, and was at his side instead, taking his hand and saying that she would stay with him if he needed her. He nuzzled her, caught up in her scent and listening to her laugh softly at him. She muttered his strangeness and wondered aloud about his drunkenness. He turned to her face and breathed deeply, resting his lips on her cheek, missing and hitting her eyebrow. She gurgled gently and let him kiss her, mumbling sweetness and giggling with his efforts.

--

She was curled up beside him, the first streaks of light hitting the window and spreading awkwardly over the surface of the floor. Her hair was flung over the pillow, her hand resting just above her shoulder. His clothes were still mostly on his body, and he was exasperatingly sober. The joy form the previous night was gone, leaving him with the pit in his stomach that would not be banished by all the alcohol or drugs that he had indulged himself in. He was evil now, he had to be.

He pried himself form the warmth of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. The door creaked open, startling the girl who lay in his bed. She tossed the hair from her face and glanced around the small room. His eyes were dark with the recollection of the night, her phone call with the man. What if she was married? God, did she even have a ring? He couldn't remember. He tried to shave, pricking his face with the old razor that was in the sink. Pretty dumb move, he thought to himself. Never do that again.

He tried to listen for her movements. She was scuffling around slowly, probably searching for her clothes. He smirked when he recalled removing them, how she had been so shy about his. Well, he'd gotten rid of what was necessary, hadn't he? He was a bit fuzzy on the details.

Dean emerged, hoping to catch a glimpse of her before she dressed. She smiled nervously before pretending to be busy with the buttons on her blouse. She'd missed one in the short glance at him, and modestly turned away to fix it. Dean stared at her back before grabbing his shirt and thrusting it over his head. He gently touched her hips and asked her about her phone call last night. She considered his question while he kissed her jaw, bubbling with concealed joy and kissing him back. He moved to her neck, settling on her shoulder and letting her answer.

"Just my roommate, he can get a little…" she paused, biting her lip, searching for a word, "Nosy."

"I know all about that" Dean sighed, tenderly caressing her neck and rising to look her in the eyes.

"What now?" she quivered, not sure whether she should ask or not. He leaned into her, taking in her hair, her scent, basking in the silence they were caught up in.

"Now, I need to check up on my brother." He studied her eyes, noting the sorrow that still lingered there. He never should have taken responsibility for that.

It was death in her eyes, the thing that had drawn him to her. She was encased in it, a somber shadow that couldn't be banished by one drunken, oafish fool, in one drunken, foolish night.

She leaned into him, trying to conceal something, a drop of sorrow escaping those hypnotic eyes, maybe? Whoever she was, she was very good. He felt her tremble before she spun away, leaving him hunched over and wanting more. She gathered her things in stony silence, faced with the finality of the night. Dean shook his head, trying to shake the blackness from his head, his eyes. It flickered in and out, caught up in hating himself for the demonic _thing_ that he'd become.


End file.
